


Gasoline

by Blue_xO



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Baz hates it, Comfort, It's chilly, M/M, Simon never closes the window, but is too proud too say a goddamn thing, did i mention baz is cold?, everything that makes a chilly vampire warm, flammabilty, simon has plenty of warmth to spare ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:11:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23304766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_xO/pseuds/Blue_xO
Summary: Snow sets his jaw and juts out his chin. He lifts the covers again. “Budge up” he says.“What?”“Said ‘budge up’.”Simon Snow is getting into my bed. He’s already sitting down on the edge and is waiting for me to move over so he can swing his legs in. I’ve died. I’ve died and gone to a beautiful hell. If not then surely it's a dream.This is not a dream.One-shot based of "Gasoline" by Halsey.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 244





	Gasoline

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!  
> I present to you a product of my procrastination from studying for exams that are supposed to take place in June (that this virus may or may not decide to turn on their heads and in turn mess up my college applications). This is my first publication on this site, so if you do take the time to read thank you for stopping by. 
> 
> While reading this fic, to set the mood, I suggest playing "Gasoline" by Halsey, but slowed down. I've developed a taste for slowed down music lately on Youtube, and I honestly think that the sound, while yes deeper, provides this amazing lushness to certain songs, especially this one.
> 
> Again, thanks for stopping by, please stay safe and wash your hands :)

**_Baz_ **

_My heart is gold and my hands are cold._

Snow left the cursed window open again, suspended on loudly creaking hinges that only he could sleep through. This room doesn’t get overly stuffy, not even during the summer months leading up to the end of the school year. But even our perfect Chosen One has spite in his bones, and so he purposely leaves it open despite my polite protests. The two duvets along with a thick cotton sheet underneath does damn near nothing to trap my undead body heat.

Though it is better than nothing.

I’ve concluded that my vampirism repels my heat, repels any life in me. Some days, when I need to drink and everyone smells like a four-course meal, I lose more and more of whatever bit of humanity stayed with me that day I was turned. My undead body leaks it, it is only ever replaced when I drink.

Take life to feel alive. It’s so terribly faux.

I could get up, but that would result in my limbs locking from the icy air outside my protective, soft sanctuary. It happened before, one night when Snow was in a deep sleep. I was left crouched and bent double by the wooden frame of the bed, shivering and cold and blue, hands numb and teeth chattering. I somehow, two hours after eventually unfurling my frozen limbs crouched beside my bed, managed to crawl back into it.

Simon woke up the next morning, unbothered and wiping sweat from his freckled forehead, unaware of the way my bones damn near fused together with ice. (They literally weren’t, but they may as well have been).

He’s asleep now, sheets pooled around his waist, and the moonlight casting shadows across his softly defined stomach and the deep ridges in his forearms. He shifts, the bed creaking slightly, and rolls his head to the side, neck exposed and warm and pulsing with blood.

_Are you deranged like me?_

He’s so alive, he got my share of it. I’d never take life from him, magic from him. The thought turns my stomach- I’d stake myself twice through the heart before ever considering the thought. But I fantasize about him giving it to me, my name softly of his lips and beautifully normal blue eyes half shut with lust. And then him sinking his sword into my chest as he places a soft kiss on my lips.

_Strange like me?_

Those were my fifth year fantasies, full of blood and kisses and Snow ridding the world of me. He’s a shit Chosen One (no he isn’t, not really) and killing me would be one of the best things he could do for the World of Mages. My mother would approve.

My leg cramps as a sharp burst of cold simultaneously whistles through the open window. I hiss, but it fizzles out into a pitiful whimper, like the pitiful mess I am. I don’t want him to wake up (I do), so I clamp a hand across my mouth. My fingers barely bend.

I shuffle further under my covers, and do something that could possible end me in a flash (vampires are like rags dripped in gasoline. We ignite quicker than Snow can inhale a sour cherry scone). What I’m about to do could kill me, but I don’t care. I don’t have a death wish (I wish I did), but if I did accidentally end myself I don’t think I could bring myself to care.

I shouldn’t be alive, after all.

_Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?_

I light the tiniest of fires in my palm: a gentle thing, barely there, and cup it with my other hand. It won’t warm my whole body, but at least my hands will stop shaking.

It could catch alight on my bed covers. The thought should scare me more than it does. But it doesn’t and inside this tent of linen my body swallows up whatever heat I can get from it.

I close my eyes, and pretend that the glow against my closed eyelids is Simon’s warmth radiating from him. I pretend that it’s his arms wrapped around me. I pretend that it’s his body pressed against mine, my own body leaching heat from his. I pretend-

_Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?_

My covers are ripped back from me, and I forget to school my features into impassiveness as the chill of the room attacks my now exposed body. I bite down on my lip, trying to prevent a pained groan from escaping me. A shudder runs through me so violently that I wish I did catch alight. Then at least I’d be warm right through until I’m a pile of ash.

The flame in my hand stays alight, and the little heat it omits is the only thing keeping my hands from shaking as I look upon my intruder.

Simon Snow is standing by my bed, my bed covers bunched tightly in his fists. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and magic is dancing down his strong arms (Crowley his fucking forearms) in flickers, like a bulb of a lamp dying. His curls are a tragedy on his head. He looks terrified.

“Baz! You’re-you’re flammable!” he whispers urgently, and a spark of magic pops at his wrist.

I school my face into impassiveness, and sneer.

“Well spotted Snow. So is everything. Although you could’ve pressed down and finally ridded the world of me for good.”

_Pointing fingers cause you never take the blame like me…?_

For a moment Snow’s face stills, and I think he’s going to attack and smother me with my bedding. It’s almost laughable, the image- I envisioned leaving this world with the Sword of Mages through my chest.

Instead, Simon lets out a shuddering breath and drops to his knees on our cold wooden floor, squeezing his eyes shut. That’s... new. My covers are still clenched tightly in his fists, and he’s running a calloused thumb back and forward over them.

Pardon me but what the fuck?

“Baz..” he murmurs so lowly that I can only hear him with my heightened vampire hearing. “Baz why would you-?”

“Why would I what, Snow?”

“You- Its- you’re flammable Baz! You could- _could’ve_ died,” he hisses urgently at me, like death isn’t something he’s been promising me these past eight years. His head is raised now, blue eyes searching mine.

“Do you want to die?” he asks lowly, and I swear I’m hallucinating because his eyes have suddenly turned shiny, tears pooling along the rim.

“No Snow, I’m just fucking cold.”

“I- Oh…”

The room slips into a heavy silence, and only the unforgiving wind howling outside disrupts it. Snow’s gaze has settled somewhere along my chest. I don’t move, and wish that he would just go back to bed. Go back to bed so I can continue to pine for him in peace.

We’ve never done this- the closest he’s come to me was when he had an arm wrapped around my neck, and his shirt collar was clenched tightly in my fist. Fighting with him physically has been the only contact we’ve ever had. Apart from that my physical presence repulses him- I’m shocked he’s even still knelt beside my bed.

A gust of wind slithers through the open window, and I can’t stop the tremors that run through my body. Surely this cold is something I could only dream of in my worst nightmares?

_You can’t wake up._

Snow startles, his head whipping up so suddenly I’m surprised he doesn’t have whiplash. “Shit,” he mutters, and scrambles to his feet, gracelessly stumbling towards the damned window. He closes it with a snap, and he heaves a sigh. A few heartbeats pass before he looks over his shoulder at me. “Sorry...” he breathes, a sheepish expression taking over his features.

I don’t reply. Instead, I tear my gaze from the constellation of moles scattered across his strong back (swinging that damned sword his does his back muscles _wonders_ )(…Crowley) and I reach for the corner of my bed covers closest to me. I would sit up, but my limbs have completely locked. Curse my vampirism. Curse my life.

Snow notices my struggle and races back over to me, gathering them up. I expect him to simply throw them at me (or, again, smother me) but he doesn’t. Instead, he stares at them for a moment, before shaking them out

And then carefully, oh so carefully, he gently places them over my shivering form. I’m too stunned to even protest. Simon Snow is fucking tucking me in. Am I dead? Surely I must be.

Snow’s warm hand brushes mine, and he shudders. (There’s the repulsion I was waiting for). But he surprises me again by not backing away, and instead places a calloused hand on my forehead. I tense up, unused to such gentle contact from him. He’s never touched me there before without the intention of physical harm. His blue eyes are searching mine. For what, I don’t know.

“Baz you’re ice-cold.”

“Noted.”

“How are you so fucking cold?”

“I told you I hated the window open.”

“Yeah, but there’s cold, and then- then, fuck- then there’s ice-cold!”

“Nice to be compared to frozen water. Is this how you complement Welbelove?”

He frowns, and I think he’s going to move away. But he doesn’t and his hand stays rested on my forehead. I shiver again, despite how the skin he’s touching there is warming up.

Snow sets his jaw and juts out his chin. He lifts the covers again. “Budge up” he says.

“What?”

“Said ‘budge up’.”

Simon Snow is getting into my bed. He’s already sitting down on the edge and is waiting for me to move over so he can swing his legs in . I’ve died. I’ve died and gone to a beautiful hell. If not then surely it’s a dream.

_This is not a dream._

He’s looking at me expectantly. As if all the years he’s gone around announcing to the world that I’m a vampire never happened. As if he’s never unloaded his worries to Bunce that I may drain him during the night. I’m tempted to let him in. He smells caramelized, like burnt sugar and everything sweet in the world. (I’ve the world’s largest sweet tooth)(Yes I am a tragedy of a vampire)(Fucking sue me).

I hold his gaze, challenging him. Challenging him to leave, to just fuck off and leave me. It’s not that I want him to, but I let him think that it’s a challenge, because all there’s ever been between us is staring contests and challenges to mask what I really feel. To both protect him and I from it.

His chin stays jutted out, but his gaze is soft. And that’s what it takes for me to lose. I shift my hips ( _painfully_. The cold has numbed me down to my toes), and he swings his legs in. He tucks us in (my heart doing tragic cartwheels inside my frozen chest as he tends to me first), cocooning us with blankets. When he settles down after making sure that no part of me is exposed, he lies facing me. I can feel his breath on my face.

“Better?” he whispers, the beautifully stupid fuck.

I can’t speak, and instead I respond with a shiver. His frown deepens, and he worries his bottom lip. He moves closer to me and, only after a second of hesitation, wraps an arm around my waist. I can’t help but gasp at the heat. He’s a furnace, a literal fire, and I nearly whimper from relief at the heat that’s melting the cold from my numbed torso. (I’m so fucking weak)

He smells so good, so alive, and I’m afraid for him for what I am. He still hasn’t dropped his gaze from my face. I’m afraid he can read everything on it, and I feel so exposed, but also so dangerous. He can’t be this close to me. Not without being drained dry.

_You’re part of a machine._

“Baz stop,”Simon whispers.

I raise a brow. His frown deepens, and he licks his lips. “Stop thinking.”

How can I when he’s this close to me? How can I when his pulse is thrumming against my torso, his breath (still slightly minty from brushing his teeth hours prior) is upon my face, and his eyes are locked on mine. How can I when his warmth is making me feel the warmest since- since I was turned? How can I-

“I can leave if you want. I’m sorry- I- I shouldn’t have just gotten in.”

He looks hurts and I can feel him loosening his grip around my waist. I grab his wrist with cold fingers, and I can see it in his face when my cold seeps into him. His lips part lightly in a gasp at the shock, but then his face settles.

I’m so weak, and I hate myself for it. “No Snow- don’t move away”, I mumble. I hate myself for how desperate I sound, but Simon Snow is in my bed, and he’s willingly giving me his body heat. I’ll be damned if I let him go now.

In the morning I may hate myself for everything but I’m far too cold to care at this present, beautiful moment.

I tentatively raise a hand a wind it around his own waist, looping under the arm attached to me. His face softens and he takes control. He pulls me flush against him, and the heat from his chest seeps through my night shirt into me. I shiver, but as a result of the battle of temperatures. His heat is winning.

And then, fucking Crowley, he shifts his hips until he is more or less sort of draped over me, one of his legs wrapped gently around my thigh. His slips hand down until it is rested firmly on my hip.

I can’t stop trembling, and it’s embarrassing. The boy I love the most in the world is holding me in his arms. Me, a monster, a vampire, sucking the heat out of him, feeding off it. I want to let go but I can’t. It’s so much. It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough and it’ll always be too much and I can’t and I need to and-

_You are not a human being._

Simon rests his forehead against mine, and my thoughts still for a moment. His eyes are on my lips. Why are they on my lips? Why is he staring at my lips like he wants to-

Fuck me is Snow gay?

Only a month ago he was with Welbelove, kissing her under a yew tree and holding her hand in the halls and laughing so brightly you'd swear he was the literal sun, before they broke up (she broke up with him, the fool)(I’m grateful for it now though). He couldn’t have figured himself out that fast.

But then again Snow has never been a big thinker. He just acts and thinks later. Or even if at all then.

He hasn’t stopped looking at my lips.

“Simon,” I begin to say, but I can’t get much else out.

Because Simon has sealed his lips over mine.

I haven’t been kissed before, so I have no experience to compare to. I always heard it was meant to be amazing, but this is not amazing.

It’s so much more.

He’s so gentle at first, so unsure. I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t know if he’s sure of himself, or unsure that I won’t head-butt him in the face. He doesn’t move his lips, just has my bottom one trapped between his. He lets go, and just hovers them before mine until they’re simply brushing them. His eyes flick up to mine, uncertainly.

Simon fucking Snow just kissed me.

I realise for the first time that my self-loathing mind has gone quiet. Like he extracted everything that has been eating me on the inside- everything my exterior-self conceals: Low self-esteem, a product of my vampirism. It’s tiresome, this self-hatred, but my fantasies of Simon and kisses and everything that I can’t have distract me from it. It’s like gasoline. It’s what has kept me going all this time.

“Baz,” Simon breathes. “Did I cross-?”

“No,” I whisper hastily. “Crowley no- you-” I don’t usually stutter, but Simon has turned off all my natural defaults. I can’t form coherent thoughts. All I know is that Simon is tracing rough circles with his thumb above my hip bone and he hasn’t stopped staring at me and I’m the warmest I’ve ever felt.

I move, hesitantly, and brush my lips against his. He doesn’t move away, and gently pushes back. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” I murmur against them, so lowly that I don’t know if he heard me. He must’ve, because he’s got his other hand cupping my face, tracing under my cheekbone and down over my bottom lip.

“Me too. I’ve just been too thick to realise it.”

We’re quiet for a few moments. Then he pulls slightly on my bottom lip, and his grip on my hip tightens.

_With your face all made up._

“So fit,” he whispers, and it rumbles from his chest like a growl. “S’not fair”. I snort at that.

He raises an eyebrow (He practiced that in the mirror. I know how much it infuriates him when I do it) “It’s true. You’ve always been so unfairly fit and pretty and- just- fuck…”

“Eloquent as always Snow.”

“You like it.”

And I do.

I can’t help the slight twitch of the corner of my mouth pulling upwards. He boldly grins right back at me.

He kisses me again, and this time I relax into it (oh how I’ve longed to be able to do that). He traces my bottom lip with his tongue (Hot. Everything is so hot about him, metaphorically and quite fucking literally), and I shiver from the sensation of it as I grant him further access. He tastes as sweet as he smells.

There are no fireworks going off behind my eyelids. No horns blaring in my ears, no angels singing. No one announcing to the world that Simon Snow is kissing me.

Just the sound of the cold wind dissolving into the patter of rain against the frozen window pane, and his soft sighs against my lips. 

I become warmer and bolder.

He becomes firmer and hastier.

His heat has seeps into my core. And I burn off it.

_Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline._

* * *


End file.
